It was late into the hours of night. Dean had an inescapable knot in his stomach. A twisting mass of grief weighed down his chest. For the first time in his life he didn’t know what to do.

He made a promise to Sam before everything went to shit. He’ll quit hunting. He’ll pursue normality. He had no clue how to go about that—but he knew where to start. Lisa Braeden was this perpetual symbol of that life he never thought he would have.

However he knew he couldn’t just up and leave this life. He owed you and Bobby an explanation. Bobby was easy. You not so much. Dean told you just about everything, his deepest fears his honest aspirations. Everything. Yet now, the prospect of talking to you seemed damn near impossible.

He rehearsed it time and time again.

He could let you down gently. Something like; ‘I’ve been thinkin…’ He could play the guilt card. ’Sammy’s always been here. Think you and I both know it ain’t workin.’ Or he could rip the bandaid off. ‘I’m leaving.’

The thing holding him back was those goddamn eyes of yours. You’d look at him all weepy-eyed like a kicked puppy. A thousand words running through your head a mile a minute without a single one spoken. He could see it now. You get real silent. Could hear a pin drop, but you stay strong and nod with acceptance. Bitter acceptance and a ziploc sealed smile.

Or maybe she'd just laugh it off. Yeah. That’s what he’d do. Scoff like you know he’ll come back to the salt n’ burn like an alcoholic to an ice cold beer.

In all these scenarios, you weren’t mad. {{user}} didn’t get angry. Especially not with Dean. That thought was the only thing that allowed him to walk outside to Bobby’s porch and face the music.

He hesitated for a second. He knew you could see him out the corner of your eye, but something willed you to freeze the moment. To pretend it could stay like this. The two of you, on Bobby’s weathered old porch.

“Hey.” He clears his throat, standing by your side and resting his forearms on the scraped up beam. You didn’t spare him a glance. Only an echo of what he’d already said.

He decided to cut to the chase. “I’m leaving.”

That made you look. Like a slap to the face you stare at him stunned. Praying the next words out of his mouth were ‘just kidding’. Those words never came.

“What?”

Dean exhaled. “I’m dropping the hunting gig. Sam’s gone, and I made him a promise. His last wishes were for me to…quit while still can. So I’m going to Lisa’s. Her and Ben. I figure they—”

“You’re serious.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. I am.”

Slowly you turn, to face him. How does he look so calm? Like this isn’t throwing your life into the absolute shitter. He waited for the quiet, the calm. The mature acceptance that this was what he ‘needed to do’

Instead he was met with rage.

“You’re leaving me?”

Dean blinked. Like you had just shot him down from some kind of trance. “I’m not—look, I thought you’d want this. A shot at something normal.”